Joy wrote in to say that she’d been taught to say “Regal eagle,” and she surmised that years of drunkenly attempting such linguistics had morphed the phrase into “weagle,” which seems a good explanation.

Kelly then pointed out that at Ole Miss the fans proudly yell a ditty which makes them seem confused, if not amnesiac:

Hotty Toddy, godalmighty,

Who the hell are we?

Flim, flam, bim bam,

Ole Miss, by damn!

As she said, “Flim flam? Also, we wonder who the hell they are too.”

That led me to wonder what else is being screamed in stadia* across the nation in the name of team spirit. Do share.

If you can beat “bodygetta bah,” Tiny Kingdom readers want to know about it!

*So excited to use my high school Latin. Thanks, Mr. Velotas!

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Many of you have insisted that I cannot technically be neutral between Alabama and Auburn, and you are correct. My parents were in a mixed marriage, commonly denoted by the license plate you see here:

Generally my parents sat on the Alabama side, but one year my mom got pissed and said she was tired of sitting with the enemy, so my dad bought two tickets on the Auburn side and two on the Alabama side. I sat with my mom, Aunt Su sat with my dad, and Aunt Lulu stayed home with the ancient babysitter who gave her half a candied orange slice as a super-special treat. If she was really lucky they watched Hee-Haw instead of the game.

Although I went to college out of state, I married a man who grew up in Auburn, and that sealed my fate. When pressed, marital harmony compels me to proclaim allegiance to Auburn.

While I don’t have a problem giving my children unusual names, I’ve taken a resolute stand against double first names (heretical in the South). My main activity as an Auburn fan is to revel in the fact that at least Auburn’s quarterback doesn’t have three names. John Parker Wilson is making it difficult on the announcers who have to spit out all those syllables every time he throws the ball.

********************

The night before the Iron Bowl we layered up to brave the weather and visited some tailgating friends. It was a large affair, complete with heated tent and guitarist, located improbably about ten feet from the parking lot, but whatever. As the musician tuned up to play, someone in the back of the crowd yelled, “Don’t you break that G-string!”

“That’s what all the girls say,” another man hollered.

I cringed and glanced at the boys. Finn gave me a knowing look while managing to seem a bit embarrassed, Drew was confused, and Porter was pissed.

“That’s not the G-string, it’s a B. I should tell that man that you remember the strings by saying ‘Easter Bunny Got Drunk At Easter.'”

This from my fervent guitarist who once responded to a man who said, “Anybody got a request?” by asking, “Can you play an E?”

He takes his notes seriously.

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Bill saw some childhood friends he hadn’t seen in ages. A guy named David told me that Bill was the first kid in town to wear tube socks, thus assuring himself a place in Auburn fashion history.

I was pleased to know that Bill was sexy long before Justin Timberlake was even born, much less driven to bring sexy back.

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I don’t know that I’ve ever written so much about sports in so short a time.

Those of you in town who are interested, I have a friend who makes the yummiest chocolate roulage! (You know, the flourless chocolate cake filled with whipped cream that’s rolled like a jellyroll).

You can give them as gifts or buy for yourself to serve as a holiday dessert. Each is $35 and serve 12-15 people each. They come frozen. This is not a mail thing, so unless you are planning to drive to Vestavia, you are out of luck. She bakes and freezes constantly between Thanksgiving and Christmas, and it’s first-come, first-served. Email me if you’re interested.

Waidmann

Your Ol’ Miss cheer sounds a lot like a WWII Army marching cadence. For fear of being blocked by a profanity checker I won’t post the actual words, however you ought to be able to figure it out from what I do write. It goes:

Hide-ho and C-almighty,
Who the hell are we?
Zim zam, G-D
We’re the Infantry.

Waidmann

Andrea

Well, I just think it shows how far Alabama has come that the words “mixed marriage” mean Alabama/Auburn in one house. Bully for us!

As for Honeybell, my bro and sis-in-law attended KU, and I was so impressed that every one of the 35,000 undergrads seem to know the fight song. I went to U of Delaware, and we’re the “Ass-Kickin’ Chickens”, but we never had a cheer (we had no school spirit. So passe in the Northeast!)

Tammy H.

I didn’t have your email, and sense I read your blog too…….. I wanted to let you know I thought of you today. Someone asked me to head up the silent auction at our elementary school next year. My answer? “I couldn’t possibly”. I’m learning so much from you in bible study. 🙂 Also, I grew up in Auburn too, and I had no idea you were married to someone that started the tube sock craze!

The West Virginia University Mountaineer fans often yell this during our Backyard Brawl (which we lost last week and are still nursing our wounded pride):

Eat Sh*t Pitt

I’m sure there are other things that are yelled during ‘Eer games, but since I’m not an alumnus and because I don’t often go to games, I couldn’t say all the “cheers.” But, given that WVU is known as a party school, could we really make out the real words? My guess is, it would sound a lot like the cheers you mentioned.

TCU: that’s pretty hilarious.

Krista

This seems so mild, but at my small, Minnesotan liberal arts college, our team is known as the Oles. (Prounounced oh-lees.) Our college fight song is a waltz (we wouldn’t want to be too loud and boisterous, dontcha know):

We come from St. Olaf, we sure are the real stuff.
Our team is the cream of the colleges great.
We fight fast and furious, our team is injurious.
Tonight Carleton College will sure meet its fate.

Lori

Jennifer,
How do we know our fight song? We live in Alabama! College football is like a religion here. My four year knows the words : Yea, Alabama! Drown ’em, Tide!
Every Bama man’s behind you, hit your stride.
Go teach the Bulldogs to behave,
Send the Yellow Jackets to a watery grave.
And if a man starts to weaken,
That’s a shame!
For Bama’s pluck and grit have writ her name in Crimson flame.
Fight on, fight on, fight on men.
Remember the Rose Bowl, we’ll win then.
Go roll to vict’ry, hit your stride.
You’re Dixie’s football pride, Crimson Tide!

There is another line in there somewhere that I can’t even pronounce, let alone type. Each line is yelled by a leader and then repeated by the crowd. Years later, I still have no flippin’ clue what it means.

I’m LSU through and through. Our fight song makes pretty good sense, and is catchy:

Hey, Fightin’ Tigers!
Fight all the Way!
Play Fightin’ Tigers,
Win the game today!

You’ve go the know-how,
You’re doin’ fine.
Hold on to the ball
As you smash the wall
And crash right through the line!

You’ve got to go for the touchdown,
Run up the score!
Make Mike the Tiger jump right up and ROAR!

Give it all of your might
As you fight tonight
To keep the goal in view!
Victory for LSU!!!

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Our first-born has the initials AFC, which my football crazed husband informed me stands for something like “American Football Conference”. Now that I’m pregnant with our second child, he wants to come up with a name that fits the initials SEC. I’m OK with Sarah Elizabeth, but am having a hard time reconciling myself to Sebastian Ernst. 🙂

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